Proving Himself Worthy
by O-filia
Summary: This story occurs in DH as the trio embarks on their journey to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes. It continues from there including events such as Malfoy Manor and the Battle of Hogwarts. Focuses on Ron and Hermione and how perfect they are for each other.
1. Chapter 1

Proving Himself Worthy

**Chapter 1**

The bitter night air nipped at Hermione's rosy cheeks, and she cursed herself for not remembering to bring an extra jumper or another blanket out for her watch. The cold locket clicked and twitched on her chest and she felt as empty as ever.

Where the locket made Harry and Ron temperamental, Hermione always felt miserable and depressed. She constantly saw her parents' faces whenever she wore the locket, and those were the malicious, angry faces she saw now as she gazed into the dwindling fire in front of her.

A round of unwelcomed tears crept down her face and she became angry at herself for being so stupid. _Your parents don't want to see you again,_ a terrifyingly familiar voice rang inside her head. _They're happier without you, don't even remember you. You were always a strange child to them, always disgracing them. They never understood you. You we—_

"Hermione?" a soft voice called from behind. She turned at the sound of her name, and saw Ron standing in the entrance of the tent, his expression looking somewhat guilty. She quickly realized she had been crying, and hastily wiped away the wetness that lingered on her blotchy face.

"Are you alright?" he asked rather timidly, and he looked afraid to approach her. She nodded and patted the dry patch of ground next to her, signaling for him to sit. He complied and made himself comfortable underneath a tethered brown blanket. "You look cold. Do you want to share?" he asked, lifting his left arm and inviting her to join him beneath his blanket. She didn't answer, just slid close to him and wrapped herself up in his blanket.

Although she would never admit this to anyone, she enjoyed just sitting there in Ron's firm yet gentle grasp. Despite the chill in the air, he felt rather pleasant, offering a sense of warmth that the dead fire could not have provided. As she grew steadily warmer, she could feel the tension in her muscles dissipating. She felt a headache she didn't even know she had disappear, and she felt slightly better - physically and emotionally – than she had before.

Ron hesitated for a moment as if he were deciding whether or not he should say something, then, against Hermione's expectations, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight. "You were just crying," he said. It wasn't a question; he had clearly seen her, and she knew there was no way for her to deny it. As quickly as the tension had been relieved, it found its way back into her body again.

"Yeah," she finally said, drawing back a little and looking down at what was left of the fire.

"Do you - er - want to talk about it?" he asked imploringly.

"You wouldn't understand," she replied.

"You're probably right," he said.

She knew she was acting crazy. This was Ron, her best friend – if not admittedly more – of seven years. Who knew her better now that her parents had no knowledge of who she was or that she even existed? Who of all people that she had left did she trust the most? And who did she know for sure would always be close by if she ever needed him? Ron, of course.

She let out a deep breath and, against better judgment, let out the only two words that would escape. "My … parents…" she cried, looking down at the ground.

"Have the most amazing, brilliant, and intelligent daughter in the entire world, and should be incredibly proud of how brave and loyal she is," he finished.

"They don't even know who I am, Ron!" she responded, trying to stop the tears that were already making their way down her face. "I have no one left anymore."

He paused for a moment and brought his hand up to brush away some of her hair. "When this is all over," he said, looking into her eyes, "we're going to Australia. Just, uh, you and me, if you want. We can find them and set them right again. I promise, Hermione. You will have your parents back."

Hermione couldn't respond for the sobs that now left her body. Ron pulled her close and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She didn't know why she had become so emotional lately. It baffled her beyond all reason. She was Hermione Granger; she had always been in control of her emotions. Most of the time. Right? _Well, except maybe around Ron,_ she thought. Perhaps that was why. Or perhaps it was because she was wearing a part of Voldemort's soul around her neck. Or maybe it was the fact of whether or not she would ever make it past all this to ever see her parents again remained uncertain.

"Hermione?" Ron asked quietly, interrupting her thoughts. The tips of his ears had turned the color of his hair.

"Yes?" she replied, looking up at him.

"You do know that you're not alone. You do have people left that care for you. You know, Harry," he paused. "_And me_," he added quietly, after a moment or two.

"Thank you, Ron. You don't know how much that means to me," she replied weakly. Suddenly, Hermione let out a loud sneeze and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jumper.

"You sound like you're not feeling well," he said, looking a bit concerned.

"Don't worry," she smiled faintly. "It's probably just allergies."

Ron brought his hand up to feel her forehead. "Blimey, Hermione. How can your forehead be scorching as cold as it is out here?" He withdrew his hand from her forehead and removed his burgundy jumper with the golden "R" knitted on the front. "Here, put this on," he offered.

"Ron, you're going to freeze. I-"

"Put it on, Hermione. You look terribly pale. You're obviously not well," he said. Hermione could tell there was no stopping him, so she obeyed and pulled the warm jumper over her head. She breathed in and she was delighted to find that it smelled just like him.

"Now, come on, let's get inside," he said standing up and offering her his hand.

"Ron-, "she tried.

"No. Come on, Hermione."

She grasped onto his hand, and he pulled her up, bringing her inside the slightly warmer tent. He walked her over to her bunk and turned her around to face him. He extended his arm out towards her until his fingers found the clasp on the locket, and smoothly unfastened the hateful object from her neck.

_Wow, that feels loads better,_ she thought with half a smile. After he had placed the Horcrux around his own neck, he stepped forward and smoothed the strands of bushy hair out of her eyes. He proceeded to lay her down gently, draping both of their blankets across her now slightly trembling frame.

She all of a sudden felt very queasy and lightheaded. _Perhaps Ron is right,_ she thought. _Maybe I'm not feeling well after all. _She groaned, sitting up and clasping her hands over her mouth.

She watched as Ron transfigured the nearest plate into a rubbish bin just in time. As she was emptying her stomach of any and all nourishment she had eaten lately, she felt Ron sit down next to her and pull her hair back with his hands.

In spite of how bad she was feeling, she felt an unexpected surge of affection for the red-headed man so tenderly caring for her. If she were not currently hurling her sick all over him, she might have thanked him.

Once there was nothing left for her to heave, Ron lay her back down slowly, replacing the blankets over her figure. She watched as he found a nearby wash rag and placed it on her forehead. He then took out his wand and began to clean up the vomit that stained her chin and her clothing. Once he seemed satisfied, he turned to her, reaching out his hand to smooth down her matted hair once more. At his touch, she felt her eyes give way to her undeniable exhaustion. Hermione felt more tired than she had in a long time. She could not remember the last time she felt this bad.

Ron's gentle stroking on her cheeks and forehead was rapidly relaxing her. The last voice she heard was Ron's, who muttered a warming charm around her bunk. She could have sworn she felt nearly restored after that, despite her fatigue.

As he pressed the warm cloth more firmly to her head, she felt her mind hushing. "Goodnight, love," Ron murmured, almost too quietly, as if no one was meant to hear it. But she did, and that was all she needed tonight. And with that, she surrendered to sleep peacefully.

**A/N: Okay, so that was my first ever fanfic, and I'm incredibly worried what everyone will think. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did it dramatically alter your life? Did it make you vomit? Let me know! R&R please!**


	2. Chapter 2

Proving Himself Worthy

**Chapter 2**

"Ron, please take the Horcrux off," she pleaded. "You wouldn't be saying any of this if you hadn't been wearing it all day." He snarled and shoved her out of the way.

"FINE, then!" Harry yelled suddenly. "GO!"

Ron didn't say a word, just yanked off the terrible locket and threw it forcefully on the floor. Grabbing his rucksack from his bunk, he turned to face Hermione. "And you?" he asked angrily. "Are you coming or are you staying?"

Hermione couldn't believe this was happening. To have to choose between the boy – no, man – that she loved and the safety of the entire wizarding world was something she never thought she would be forced to comprehend. Hadn't he promised, given Harry his word that he would stay and help search for Voldemort's Horcruxes? Hadn't he vowed, just the other week he would always be there to protect her and comfort her? Her face twisted with angst and confusion at being put in this position.

"Ron," she whispered. "We promised – _you _prom–"

"No, Hermione, I get it," he interrupted. "You don't have to spare my feelings. You choose him." He looked with utter loathing towards Harry.

"Ron, I—" she cried, but he had already stormed out into the pouring rain. She quickly followed him, sprinting to catch up. "Ron, please come back!" He ignored her. "Ron, please don't go! You promised! Please stay! We need you here!"

"No, you don't!" he yelled, pulling out his wand, ready to disapparate.

"Ron, please come back!" she begged, tears flowing with the rain pelting down on them both. She let out an audible sob, and Ron turned towards her, a brief look of remorse flickering across his contorted face. It didn't last but for a second and the hate and spite returned, more prominent than ever.

"You've made your decision, Hermione," he said, glancing back at the magicked tent. "Now, I've made mine."

"No, please. Ron, don't go. I l–" but he was gone, and she released her long-awaited confession to the bare, wind-swept trees. "I love _you_," she whispered, crumbling to the ground.

How long she sat there, she didn't know. She didn't really care either. The rain was calming now to a soft drizzle and she heard a soft noise in the distance. She sat up hopefully, looking for a flash of red in between the trees. When her search produced nothing she buried her face in her knees and continued to cry.

"Hermione," someone called. She turned around and spotted Harry standing in the entrance of the tent. He still looked angry, but when he took in Hermione's disheveled appearance he seemed to soften a little. "Come inside," he said carefully.

She reluctantly obeyed and walked towards the much warmer and dryer tent, unprepared for what to do next. She felt as if her heart were still left outside in the wet and cold where Ron had so violently ripped it in two, perhaps even taking a part of it with him.

Who else did she have left? Ron had been the only consistency in her life since she had sent her parents off to Australia all those months ago. He had nearly always been there for her, and now that he was gone there was nobody left to turn to. Except maybe Harry, but he was about as willing to talk to her now as the leaf-barren trees standing outside. And she certainly didn't have the same feelings for Harry as she did for Ron.

But what did that matter now? She was sure she would never see him again. If – no, when – he came to his senses, there would be no way for him to find them. Absolutely no way. The protective enchantments saw to that. No one on the _outside_ could see or hear or even be aware of their presence. And that's what Ron was now: an _outsider_.

Not able to think about the night's happenings any longer, she decided to prepare for bed. She pulled the maroon jumper labeled with a gold "R" over her head, the one he had given to her the night she had fallen ill. She climbed into her bunk and lay down, rolling over a few times to find a comfortable position.

After what seemed like hours, she sighed in frustration at her inability to fall asleep. She shoved her cold, clenched fists into the empty pockets of her jumper, and let out another round of uncontrollable tears. Fortunately, Harry was out on watch duty and could not see her in this miserable state.

She knew it was very early in the morning, probably three o'clock, and decided she should sleep, for her shift would come in only a few hours time. She reluctantly succumbed to sleep, the blue hue of her blanket melting away into the eyes of the one she so desperately wanted to see.

**A/N: Okay, so there's Chapter 2! I know it's quite a bit shorter than the previous chapter, but there are more exciting chapters to come for this story! Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter, those were really wonderful! Tell me what you thought of this chapter. R & R please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The clanging of pots and pans in the background woke Hermione from her restless slumber. From the sun that shone through the tent, she could tell it was already mid-morning; her shift had come and gone. _Why did Harry not wake me?_ she thought.

She opened her eyes, drawing up the blankets to her chin. It was alarmingly cold today, despite the bright, beautiful day that was in the works outside; the dreadful storm had passed. But she wondered how everything around her could be so lively and cheerful when her entire world had just crumbled around her.

Wrapping the blankets tighter around herself, she noticed an extra blanket she had not had the night before. It was brown and warm; it smelled like musk and freshly mown grass – like Ron. The reminder of him flooded her eyes again in an instant. She curled up in his blanket and imagined it was Ron, not this thin piece of fabric, holding her and keeping her warm like he had the night she had been sick.

This thought made her feel more troubled than before, not just at Ron, but at herself, for allowing herself to be so emotional. "You're stronger than this, Hermione," she doubtfully tried to convince herself. "Harry needs you to be focused now; he needs you not to be worried about petty, selfish things such as this."

"What's that, Hermione?" Harry called from the kitchen.

She jumped and shrieked, "_Harry!_" She had forgotten he was in there, making all the clatter that had so crudely awoken her from her sleep. "Oh, nothing," she lied, wiping the tears that had leaked out from her eyes. Throwing Ron's blanket off the bed, she slowly stood up. She saw the locket lying on the bedside table and half-heartedly placed it around her neck.

She made her way over to the kitchen table and found a spot in her usual chair. She didn't dare look across the table to Ron's vacated place, so she brought her knees to her chin and turned to face Harry. "Why didn't you wake me?" she asked angrily.

Harry didn't respond but looked away from Hermione, continuing his preparation of another unsatisfactory breakfast.

"Harry," she continued, more annoyed than before.

"Well… uh, I meant to, but I came inside and you looked cold … or as if you weren't sleeping well … or … something," he said uncomfortably, not meeting her eye. "But I gave you Ron, uh, i mean— a-another blanket and let you sleep." When she still didn't look pleased, he added, "I just thought you could use some sleep."

She sighed and decided to let it go. "Well, I'm awake now. I'll be outside." She grabbed her wand, and as much as she knew she shouldn't have, Ron's blanket, and made her journey into the bitter cold.

Once she made sure all of the enchantments were still in place, Hermione sat down in front of their tent. She had been correct in dubbing today a chilly day. She really felt the brutality of the harsh wind as it nipped at her exposed flesh. Picking up Ron's blanket, she wrapped it around her, protecting her from this morning's cold chill. Finding no warmth from rubbing her hands together, she once again stuffed them deep into her pockets. Inside, she felt something that she was almost certain had not been there the night before. It felt rough yet somewhat flimsy all the same. Pulling it out, she saw that it was a piece of parchment folded over several times and a single line of unusually perfect print – Ron's print – on the front flap.

She was nearly ready to chuck it in pent-up anger and emotion until she got a glimpse of what the print actually said. Ron had spelled out her name in loopy, almost flawless letters. Not sure what to do, Hermione sat there and contemplated what it could be about. None of the guesses she came up with made any sense.

Deciding not to procrastinate any longer, she carefully unfolded the letter Ron had written to her. It had been dated a few weeks prior and she wondered why Ron would have written her a letter at that time. It was only a few paragraphs long, but Hermione could tell he had put a lot of time into it; he had written in his neatest handwriting and nearly all of his lines were straight. She laughed, remembering a time when she and Ron would sit in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room correcting (or perhaps it was mostly her efforts) his Potions essays.

But they were not. Ron wasn't even there with her at all, whether it be at Hogwarts or in the quiet, secluded forest. She didn't have the desire to read this anymore, but she knew she had to, something important was written there. Her eyes reluctantly traveled to the first line and began to read:

Dear Hermione,

I know that if you're reading this, something terrible has happened, and that it's completely and entirely my fault. At this precise moment, I can't tell you what it is I've done, and I can't begin to imagine how much I've probably hurt you in the process. But, please know that with all my heart I am sorry and I hope you will understand because I know that's the kind of person you are.

Looking at you right now, I ask myself how I could have possibly done half the things I've done to you these past seven years: you know, the whole Scabbers and Crookshanks incident third year, the Yule Ball, all the countless times I've made fun of you, dating Lavender last year, and of course whatever it is I've done this time. But who's counting, right?

As I write this, I'm sitting in the armchair across from the kitchen, which gives me a perfect view of you and your bunk: you're sleeping soundly right now. You just came in from your watch only moments ago and slipped Harry the locket on his way out. Once you hit your bunk, you passed out without a chance to even pull up the bedcovers or allow your head to find the pillow.

I carefully, quietly made my way over to your bunk, and you still looked deathly cold from tonight's chill. I pulled off your boots and repositioned you to a point where you looked comfortable. I slid your thin blue blanket over you, and yet I was sure it was not enough. Trekking back over to the armchair to retrieve my brown, equally thin blanket, I decided your needs were much greater than my own (you're just now getting rid of some Muggle illness called the flew?). I draped the blanket over you and yet I still wish I could do more for you.

Despite the bitter cold, you look so peaceful and so beautiful (I'm sure my ears are the same shade as my hair right now). I decided right then and there that I would do anything for you, Hermione Granger. I would face Voldemort and his entire army of Death Eaters if it meant you would stay whole and safe. And even though I've already screwed it up, I hope you won't assume that I never cared for you, because that is the complete opposite of true. I've cared for you for as long as I can remember, I still care for you, and I'm sure I would be quite content to care for you for the rest of my life.

So for now, I kneel in front of you and kiss you goodnight on your forehead. You smile and shift a little in your sleep, and I thank any God that happens to listen that I have you. And when I finally come to my senses and beg for your forgiveness, I hope you will let me prove myself worthy of you. Until then, just know you're my life; you mean everything, no matter how stupid of a git I am being. Never forget that.

Love always,

Ron

Hermione could not believe what she was reading. She let the unwanted tears fall freely from her eyes. Those beautiful, heartfelt words could not have possibly belonged to Ron Weasley. Could they? If she hadn't been so brokenhearted, she would have been extremely proud of him. Never had he written anything so wonderful in all the years Hermione had known him.

Still, no matter how lovely that letter was she couldn't get the fact that he left them out of her mind. If she saw him right now, she wasn't sure what she would do. At that moment, all she wanted was to see him again and tell him how much she had missed him. But t_hat's probably because the wound is still so fresh_, she thought.

But a new, more dominate feeling entered her mind – anger. Complete and utter anger. An anger above all others she had ever felt crept up on her, and she had not expected it. She hastily wiped the tears from her eyes, and felt a scowl rise on her face. Yes, she was sure she would eventually be open to forgive him—that is if she ever saw him again. But right now she wanted to be angry at him. And as she twisted the long chain of the locket in her hand, she decided that was exactly the way it was going to be.

**A/N: Okay, so there's chapter 3! I much enjoyed writing this chapter because I got to portray an angry, seething Hermione. That was loads of fun! Anyways, let me know what you thought about it. Reviews are always very greatly appreciated! :)**


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